the minute hand hurries
to catch slow passing hours
we tick together
search for words
until dusk descends
and night chinks white
across the icy courtyard
ice flowers whirl
fireplaces breathe
sculpted trees stand
strong and stark
new born leaves hidden
inside furrowed bark
I read poetry
and for a short time
live inside a stranger’s world
rage at winter’s vitality
as a stiff wind blows
salty curtains of snow
– Rita Katz
